


Much to Do

by ceirdwenfc



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Drug Use, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Frottage, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post War, Post-War, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Eternity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-14
Updated: 2009-08-14
Packaged: 2018-10-27 10:01:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10806870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceirdwenfc/pseuds/ceirdwenfc
Summary: There is much to do before a wedding.





	Much to Do

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
> **Author's notes:**
> 
> The characterizations of Ernie and his parents are from thanfiction's Dumbledore's Army series, but are outside of that universe.
> 
>  Warning for drug use refers to alcohol use.

"Ernie." Susan really didn't want to start out sounding shrewish, especially the day before their wedding, but the tiny squeak that escaped her throat was involuntary. Perhaps Ernie hadn't noticed. She cringed slightly when, even though he didn’t look up, she saw his lips curve into a half smile. He had noticed. She began again, evening her tone. "Ernie, I just don't know about this." He looked up now, the smile remaining, and she knew how she must have looked; leaning on her left foot, hands on her hips, but she did not change her position.

He was kneeling, wearing nothing save a long white shirt as he spread the woolen plaid out across the floor. It was folded, pleated, and folded some more, until finally he laid down on it and soon had it wrapped around his waist, belting it tightly. Then he stood, smiling as he brought the long remainder of the blue and yellow fabric over his right shoulder and across his chest. "Can you help me with this, Susan?"

She took the brooch from his hand, neatly pinning it through the plaid and shirt. Her fingers skimmed over the raised relief of the ornamentation – a Demiguise surrounding by thistle plants. Her hand was still on the brooch, and it was cool against her touch when he leaned down and kissed her, a fluttering in her stomach matching the fluttering of his breath on her lips.

"What do you think?" He took a step back and turned in a circle, stopping when he faced her again.

"I think you forgot something."

"I did!" he agreed, sitting on the bed with a bounce to pull on one long, thick white stocking, then the second. As a final touch, a small, ornate knife was slid into the right stocking, and he stood again, spreading his hands to invite her opinion. "Better?"

Susan shook her head, laughing. "No, Ernie. I meant ithese/i – you've forgotten your pants." She twirled his discarded underwear on her finger.

He grabbed her around the waist so fast that it surprised her, making her have to drop his underwear and grasp his broad shoulders to keep her balance. He kissed her quickly on the lips, then nuzzled her neck, breathing the words into her ear. "Ah, love, you've so much to learn about we Scots. It's a kilt, Susan. It doesn't come with pants." She startled as he pressed closer to her and she could feel him hard against her stomach.

"Hmm," she said thoughtfully. "Perhaps you were right about wearing traditional clothes for our wedding." Ernie sat on the bed, pulling her down to sit on his lap and kissing her in tiny pecks along her jawline. "Um, Ernie." She was clearly distracted, having to begin her sentence no less than three times as she pressed down on his lap. He let out a strangled groan, the longing obvious deep in his throat. "Ernie, how ever will you hide –"

"Sporran." He nodded his head towards what looked like a puffskein, but at closer look was in fact a belt pouch.

They both glanced towards the closed door as the knock came; not loud, but distinct and followed by a deep bellow. "What's tha hold on ye, lad? Let's have a shooftie! Your Ma's waiting doonstairs."

Susan ran a finger down Ernie's face, smiling. "Maybe later," she whispered into the kiss. Ernie slipped his tongue between her lips, running it along the bottoms of her teeth, but the rapping continued, and Susan had to make every effort to get up and open the door for Mr. Macmillan as Ernie, his back to the door, adjusted his sporran.

His father led the way down the staircase into the small kitchen, looking over his shoulder at his only son following behind Susan. "Yer braw, laddie. Meckle braw. Yer mother's –"

He stopped talking as they reached the bottom, and they all heard the intake of breath from Mrs. Macmillan. Her voice was quiet, but it stilled the room. “Ernie….”

She put one hand on her son's cheek, and he bowed his head to rest his forehead against hers. Susan had rarely seen this tender side of him with others. His family was very reserved, not inclined towards emotion or hugs at every moment. She knew they cared for each other, they simply rarely showed it and never to the outside world. Ernie was always gentle with her, but with no one else that she had noticed apart from the farm's animals. Here, at home, she saw him with his mother and younger cousins, and was discovering more of the many things that made her love him. Seeing him now like this, Susan could almost imagine him years from now with his own son or daughter on their wedding day.

Her thoughts were broken up by Mrs. Macmillan's soft voice. "Yer Da's right. Tru braw, Ernie." She turned to Susan, keeping Ernie's hand in her own. "Are ye sure ye don’t want tae join us at MacAvoys? Alex is testing out that new riding broom from Nimbus."

Ernie's eyes lit up for a moment, then he blinked once, as if coming back from a trance as he looked at Susan. "No, Mam. Susan and I would prefer a quiet evening before the ceremony tomorrow afternoon. We'll be fine."

"Ye'll find sommat tae do?" His mother was busying herself with her cloak, checking her bag for the second time, not seeing her son's smirk or Susan's cheeks darken.

"We'll manage," he said, but at the same time he was pushing his hips into Susan's arse, nearly pinning her against the worktop that she leaned against.

Ernie began to lean down, and she could feel his breath in her hair, and she hoped he would keep going, but then she felt him tense as his father spoke again. "Mind tha plaid, Ernie; dunnae mess’t."

"Of course, Da."

They turned to Apparate, but Mr. Macmillan stopped again. Susan let out her held breath, tiring of their delays. "Ach, lad, I almost forgot." He pushed a fabric bag towards the two of them. "Seamus Finnigan let off while ye were both in the barn." Duncan paused, letting his eye wander from Susan to Ernie with a raised eyebrow. "Working tha Demiguise." Susan felt the blush creeping up the open neck of her shirt. "He also said he'd see ye both tomorrow."

"Did he mention who he's bringing?" Ernie had already begun to untie the gold ribbon from the top of the scarlet bag, and when he did, the bag fell open, and he and Susan both laughed knowingly as Ernie lifted the bottle and turned it to show his parents the blue and green label. "Did you want a nip before you go, Da?"

"Brown, said he. And nae, glad the offer, but I ken tae MacAvoy for a tot tae his vintage Walker he keeps for company. We'll go now, and dunnae forget, there's a heft tae do tomorrow. Get tae bed early." The elder Macmillans Disapparated before they could hear Ernie's snort and muttering of his plans to do just that, or see Susan slap him on his chest, her face growing quite warm as he cupped her arse and squeezed.

Ernie lifted the bottle of Guthrie's Ginger Blend, waggling his eyebrows. "Drink?"

"Ernie, I don't think –"

"Oh, Susan. Stop being so…reasonable."

"Reasonable?"

"Yes, sensible Susan. Always thinking of tomorrow and what may come." He summoned two glasses from the cupboard and poured out a generous helping in each. "Sensible Susan," he said again, in a sing-song voice that abruptly ended as he drank, first a tiny sip to taste as he always did, then a longer swallow. "Oh, dear sweet Merlin's pants, that iis/i good." He smiled, the cup still perched on his lips. "Have some." He nudged her glass closer as he finished his. She bit her lower lip, and carefully lifted the glass, drinking slowly. "Yes?" he encouraged.

"Yes," she agreed, her words coming out slow and breathy. She stole a quick glance, thinking that his sporran had moved. Perhaps it iwas/i a puffskein.

By the time they moved into the sitting room, Ernie was on his third glass; Susan her second. Susan felt warm, and as she sat on Ernie's lap, looking into the dancing flames of the fireplace, she knew that the warmth spreading through her body was not only the fire. Part of it, she knew, was from the Ginger Blend. The taste made her skin tingle; starting with her tongue, spicy iand/i sweet, then working its way down inside her, but Ernie's' fingertips tracing invisible lines on her thigh made it tingle even more.

She shivered as his finger dipped to the inside of her thigh, his breath warm as his head moved closer. His tongue darted out of his mouth to lick his lips, -- prompting thoughts that were downright indecent about it and what she’d like it to do -- and she knew if she turned her body, her cleavage would be within his reach. Ernie usually couldn't resist her, especially when that third button was opened, and she was trying to reach it while balancing the glass and turning to face him, but his breath iwas/i warm and he distracted her for just that one moment.

Whenever she had Guthrie's, she would forget. It tasted so much like a warm shawl against the cool draft that she never paid attention to how much of the alcohol she had actually consumed. She was taking another sip, readjusting herself on Ernie's lap, noticing suddenly that the sporran had been discarded, but in that moment, he had moved under her, and she slipped. Before either of them could even recognize what was happening, her glass had tipped over, and so had she. Ernie tried to jump out of the way of the falling glass iand/i still catch his fiancée, but he succeeded on neither count. The glass bounced off his knee, her remaining drink splashing both his lap and down the front of her shirt.

Silence echoed for a split second, then panic ensued.

"iAccio/i tea towel! Oh no, Ernie…your kilt!" She fumbled with the tea towel, rubbing the ever-expanding stain in the center of his kilt. The towel moved busily back and forth across the fabric, but it seemed only to be absorbing into the kilt instead of soaking into the cloth in her hand. Susan was on her knees, pressing on the plaid with both hands, but she stopped. The kilt was pressing back. Her hand froze over the bulge that she was now staring at quite closely, and Ernie's knees failed him as he fell back into the chair. "I…I…sorry –" she stammered.

"Don't be sorry. And don't stop," he smirked, pushing her hand back into his lap. He reached for his own wand. "iTergeo/i." They both watched the Ginger Blend stains disappear into Ernie's wand, then let out an anxious laugh, and Susan nearly jumped out of her skin when both of Ernie's hands cupped her face, drawing her to him for a kiss.

His arms pressed against her shirt, chilling her with the still wet fabric. Ernie grinned at her gasp, his eyes twinkling as he licked the tiny bit from his forearm and ran his tongue next across his lips, savoring the taste. He was staring at her, his eyes clouded as he looked down at her exposed cleavage, at the breasts that were rising and falling with each breath. She also looked down, seeing that not only had the third button popped open, but the fourth one as well.

Without hesitation, he leaned his face into her open shirt and kissed her. His head popped up for a moment, but immediately went back and began to lick her, pushing her down onto the hearth rug in front of the fireplace. Ernie's kisses were very familiar at first, but then she heard him making odd little noises and murmurings. "Mmm. So good. You taste…" His words were lost with each new caress of his tongue on her skin, sticky and slick with Guthrie's finest. "Delicious. Do you know how good you taste? Sweet Merlin, Susan…."

To her surprise, he had pulled away, on his knees now and turning away from her. She sat up on her elbows, beginning to feel insulted, but before she could say anything, he brought his reaching hand back to her view. Her eyebrows knitted in question as she saw his still half-full glass of the Ginger Blend. He was grinning, his eyes shining with excitement, and she smiled despite her confusion. "Drink?" he asked. She shook her head. "Good." Ernie tipped the glass, slowly pouring what was left of the liquid across her breasts, trailing it up her neck and placing the last tiny droplets onto her lips, which he kissed and licked away as he murmured incoherently against her.

Goosebumps began to rise on her skin where the cool liquid had settled. She could feel it slowly running from her neck to her shoulder as the drops on her breasts coursed down, pooling in her bra. Her breaths were shallow, the chill on her flushed skin aching as she looked up at her husband-to-be. Susan had begun to squirm under him, making Ernie groan deeply as he pressed his hips involuntarily into hers.

The now empty glass dropped to the rug, and he grabbed her by the nape of her neck, pulling her mouth to his as his fingers tangled in her hair. He drank the Ginger from her shoulder and neck, swallowing and kissing her again. She could taste the spicy alcohol on his lips as well, and when he bit her, she knew there'd be a mark, but she didn’t care. Ernie’s mouth was moving the liquor around, and she whimpered as it rubbed into her skin like lotion; so smooth, the coolness vanishing as the heat of his mouth replaced it. Susan’s head fell back, her hips jerking up again as his lips closed over one sticky nipple.

Her hands groped for his belt, trying to undo the buckle, stopping only when Ernie laughed. They looked at each other. He dipped his tongue deep into the hollow between her breasts, suckling, and with each swallow, she was anxiously reaching for his belt again. He spoke in a surge of words between kisses and caresses while his lips pulled at her skin, her moans spurring him on. "It's…a…kilt…Susan. A…kilt."

Ernie unclasped her bra, and what was left of the Ginger slowly ran down her sides. His hands were covered in the creamy substance as he rubbed it into her skin. The smell was almost more intoxicating than drinking it. She moaned as he squeezed her breast, the last of it now long soaked into her body. His breathing was heavy and hot as he continued to lick any stray drops, Susan arching eagerly into his hand. A few were caught with his fingers, but instead of licking them off himself, he laid them against her mouth, and she didn’t hesitate, taking his fingers into her mouth and sucking the warm and spicy off until every trace was gone.

Her hands found the hem of his kilt, and she remembered the 'no pants' rule as she lifted it, her fingernails grazing his thighs. Ernie’s bum clenched under her touch, and she hadn't realized how hard he had become until he shifted, pressing against her thigh and attempting to pull away her skirt.

Then the fabric tore, they shifted, and she was biting his finger and grabbing his arse and he easily slid inside her. "Oh, oh sweet Susan." His breath was hot, and she had lost all sense of what was his breath, what was sweat, what was the creamy drink as they pressed onto each other. Hands were smoothing, fingernails grazing, lips bearing down, teeth nipping, hair sticking, and all was lost in the shudders and quivers.

Finally, Susan arched one last time, and they both collapsed, the heat of the fireplace prickling the back of her neck. The last thing she heard was Ernie beginning to snore as she drifted off to her own slumber, her hand resting against the overturned glass, a mouthful of Guthrie's left in it.


End file.
